Chapter 9

Three nights later, it happened. He'd been resisting her, offering love and care and support every way he could think, and turning down the heat whenever she wanted more.

That night, nearly two weeks since her abduction, Bobby was lost in his own personal hell.

He'd called his mother.

"You've abandoned me."

"I didn't abandon you, Ma."

"I'm sick, Bobby. I have no one to take care of me."

"You're sick? Did you tell the staff about… about your symptoms?"

"They don't believe me. They think I'm crazy, remember?"

"Ma, I don't like it when you talk like that."

"You're the one who told them, Bobby. They all think I'm delusional."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Sometimes she was delusional. The conversation, however was going nowhere. He had to get her to tell him more. "Ma, what's wrong?"

"Everything hurts, Bobby. I don't even want to move."

"Everything, what, like aching?"

"Exactly."

"Anything else?"

"Diarrhea. And just the thought of eating makes me want to vomit."

"Sounds like the flu, Ma. You should tell them. Do you- do you have a fever?"

"I don't know. You should come out here, Bobby. I need your help."

"Ma, I… I can't."

"It's that damn job of yours."

"N-no, not exactly." Shit! Bobby couldn't believe he'd said that. Now how was he supposed to tell his mother that he chose Eames over her?

"You're sick of me. You're going to leave me here to rot."

"Ma!"

"You're just like your father."

"All right, Ma, what do you want me to do?!"

"I need you, Bobby. I need you to come and help me."

He paced and spun in a circle, his eyes falling upon Eames. "I c-can't do that right now. I can't tell you why. Look, Ma. I'll talk to the staff there. I'll tell them to check you over, see if you've got the flu or something."

She hung up on him. Bobby pushed the end button on his phone and dug his fingers deep into his hair.

After the call to Carmel Ridge, he was assured there was nothing physically wrong that they could see. She had no fever, and the symptoms seemed to be stemming from her overactive imagination. They'd verified that she'd had diarrhea, but that could have been a side effect of her medications. He'd left his mother in their capable hands, and tried to figure out how to get the conversation out of his head. Alex had already had her first therapy session with Olivet, and her first physical therapy was scheduled for tomorrow. Ross was nagging him to come back to work, but he couldn't leave her now, she needed him. He'd put the Captain off until Monday. That would give him a few more days and nights with Alex. Then maybe he could work something out with her family when she needed a little more help.

They'd fallen into the routine of snuggling together in the bed at night. He would sit with his back against the headboard, and Alex would rest her head against his chest, and they would talk.

She'd shared some of her insights from her therapy session, and then they'd ended up caressing each other. She kissed him, and he forgot himself. Bobby's hands ended up in all the places she'd been begging him to touch. When he'd finally tried to stop, he was too far gone. One touch from Alex, and he was lost again.

The morning after, he was consumed with worry. "What is it?" she asked him, pulling on the flannel button down she'd taken to wearing around the house. It didn't require her to raise her arms very high to put on.

Bobby sighed, trying to shove aside all the things that were plaguing his mind. "I love you, Alex."

She gave him that half-smile, the one she'd been using ever since the abduction. She couldn't allow herself to truly be happy. Half-happy was as far as Alex could go. "I love you, too."

He shook his head. "I just… you're, you're in charge here. You call the shots."

"Are you worried about last night?" she asked, and he only stared back at her. "God, Bobby, last night was great! Exactly what I needed."

"I don't want to force myself on you."

"You didn't." She touched his cheek with her fingers and he finally smiled a little.

"Go out for breakfast?" he suggested.

Quietly, she nodded.

She was in a foul mood after therapy. They'd only remeasured her range of motion and done a few exercises, but it had hurt. A lot. And the therapist had told her to lose the flannel shirt, too. He said that she needed to dress as she always had, and that her body would heal more quickly if she challenged herself rather than modifying to make things easier.

Bobby was on the phone again, pacing in the kitchen. From the aggravated and almost whiny tone of his voice, she assumed it was his mother.

"What else?" he demanded. As the other party spoke, he scribbled furious notes on a paper. "Yeah. Yeah, Ma, I will. I'll call them. No, I can't come out. I told you why. It's just… not a good time for me."

His eyes met Alex's as he said that. Bobby suffered through more accusations of abandonment, more frantic complaining of aches and pains, and another comparison to his father. He finally managed to end the call in some kind of a truce.

"You can go," Alex told him. "You don't have to be with me every minute."

He held his breath a minute and then let it out in a heavy sigh. Tossing the phone on the table, he came in and joined her in the living room. "I need to talk to you about that," he said. "Ross wants me back at the squad Monday morning."

Alex nodded, but he caught the flicker of panic that flashed across her face.

He held out his hand for hers. "I'll still be here for you. Chauffer to your appointments… I'll stay with you at night."

Alex chewed on her lower lip. "It's okay," she lied. "We knew it was coming. Maybe I'll go back soon, too."

He frowned at her.

"I said maybe! I don't know when Olivet will think I'm ready."

"Take your time, Alex," he warned. "Besides, your shoulders haven't healed yet."

This was undeniable. Alex knew she'd never be able to work until she had her full range of motion back. She nodded at him. "What's going on with your Mom?" she asked. It was beyond what they normally did, but they were more than partners, now, and she thought maybe the boundaries had changed.

He struggled with a response. Alex had never really asked before, and he wasn't sure he wanted to tell her. He felt her hand in his, and thought about the night before. "She, uh… she thinks she's sick. She thinks the staff there doesn't care. She thinks I've, uh… abandoned her."

"Bobby, you have to go see her."

"It's all in her head," he said. "I called them, they examined her. There's nothing wrong, beyond her mental illness."

"But Bobby, she's asking for you. You should go."

"I'd rather be here with you." It was almost a whisper, and he barely registered that he'd said it aloud.

Alex squeezed his hand until he looked her in the eyes again. "I'll call my Dad or somebody. I'll be okay. Go see her. Tomorrow."